


erasure

by poppyseedheart (hockeycaptains)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: (It's temporary), Alternate Universe, Angst, Brain Damage, Monsters, Other, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeycaptains/pseuds/poppyseedheart
Summary: The next mission only takes eleven resets, Michael by his side through every one of them. The bags under Michael’s eyes are semi-permanent now, though not as rough as Gavin’s, but having the company feels restorative.It would be kinder to leave Michael alone, let him reset naïve like the others, but Gavin’s never pretended not to be selfish.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justawordshaker (thegloryofspring)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegloryofspring/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATY!!! I've been working on this for a little while and I'm really excited to be sharing it with you (and everyone else that's reading this) <3
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. (If you would perchance ever like to offer your beta services to me I would not say no, just FYI)
> 
> This is a fairly gen fic and more of a character study and exercise in world building than anything else. If it gets confusing at all feel free to ask questions in the comments and I'm happy to explain things :)
> 
> Happy reading!

“What if,” says Michael from his desk, twirling a pen in his hand, “you take me with you next time you reset?”

“No,” says Gavin, not even looking up from his work.

Michael blinks, taken aback, and straightens in his chair. “Wait, hear me out first at least.”

Gavin sighs. He feels so old sometimes, exhausted. “I said no, Michael.”

The office is quiet, the low tap of keyboards and mouse clicks the only sounds reaching them. Michael’s uniform is mussed from the nap he took earlier on the couch in the corner of the room, but the bags under his eyes are as prominent as ever. Gavin, on his third cup of coffee in the past two hours, knows he can’t look much better himself. This mission has been hard, two massive lizard-like creatures having taken up residency in an abandoned warehouse, but it’s nothing the team hasn’t dealt with before. The fact that it’s not the first try doesn’t mean they can’t do it.

“We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”

Gavin shuts his eyes. Michael’s too bloody observant for his own good. “Yeah,” he says, finally. “It’s not happening, boi.”

Michael, for once in his life, shuts up. There was a time when Gavin would’ve reveled in the back and forth, egged him on to see where this could take them, but that was a long time ago, and there’s no use debating it now.

They go back to their work.

 

 

“Just take me with you,” says Michael. He’s bleeding from the corner of his mouth, eyes wide and beseeching. Internal bleeding, Gavin registers distantly, taking in the nearly black bruising on Michael’s side, visible through a jagged tear in his uniform. He’s seen so much death that it hardly fazes him anymore. It still sinks like a rock in his stomach, but it doesn’t come as a surprise. “Come on, I can help you.”

Gavin hesitates. “I’ve never taken anyone with me before,” he says.

Michael grabs Gavin’s hand, more determined than tender. “Try,” he says. 

“You could get hurt,” hedges Gavin.

“Then reset us,” says Michael, matter of fact. “It’s not like I’ll remember it. It’s fine.”

Gavin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Even if you don’t remember, I don’t want to hurt you if I can avoid it.”

“Let’s just try it,” pushes Michael, stubborn and reckless to the very last. “What if it works? This could be a game changer, dude.”

Gavin, unbidden, thinks about Meg. About her whip-sharp wit, her unapologetic laughter, her shameless eyes. About what would’ve happened if he could have taken her with him, or if he’d reset to her while he still had the chance. If he hadn’t fucked it up quite so royally after all.

He sighs. “We’ll try,” he says, “but I can’t promise you anything.”

Michael grins, dimple popping in his left cheek. “Sweet,” he says, eyes a little glassy. He’s got a gash in his left calf, deep enough that the blood loss must be making him woozy. “Beam me up, Scotty.”

“Shut up,” says Gavin. “It might not even work, just. Hold still.”

They’re standing across from each other, both of Michael’s hands in Gavin’s, and Gavin reaches for the familiar pull. Resetting is like breathing at this point, practically unconscious. First the tug, then the spinning, then Gavin blinks his eyes open and he’s back in his apartment at the last checkpoint he set, two hours before the raid. 

The main difference this time is that Michael’s here, too.

His eyes are bright, cheeks flushed. He’s looking at his hands, then twisting to look at his uniform. It’s not ripped, and the skin underneath is unbroken and the blood is gone. “Whoa,” says Michael. He’s grinning. “Dude, this is insane. I remember everything.”

Gavin keeps watching, quiet for a second, and breathes a sigh of relief when it seems like Michael really is fine. “We have two hours before the raid,” he says. “Better get to the office and update people on the important stuff.”

“So you do this every time?” asks Michael. “Why not just start in the office? You can set a point there, right?”

Gavin doesn’t answer right away. He’s thinking about two resets ago, when he got back to his apartment still shivering. He showered for thirty minutes trying to get the phantom feel of Ryan’s blood off of his skin, and another twenty standing naked in the bathroom after, staring sightlessly at the mirror trying to get the images out of his head. It’s not the only time he’s reset without explaining himself or telling anyone he was doing it, and likely won’t be the last. 

“It’s easier this way,” he says. 

Michael shoots Gavin a look but takes it in stride. “So last time,” he says, “I think we started too early. Our timing got screwed up because we didn’t know what to do with the first five or ten minutes. If we cut it closer, we might not get as confused.”

“Do you know how many times we’ve tried that?” asks Gavin, almost conversational. Michael doesn’t say anything, so Gavin answers his own question. “Fourteen. Last time, you got hurt, but it was the farthest we’d gotten without anyone dying so far.”

Michael blinks. “Why’d you reset us, then?”

Because we have a million chances, Gavin doesn’t say, or more, so it needs to be perfect to be worth it. “The rest of it wouldn’t have been useful,” he says instead. “Patterns were starting to repeat. I pulled us before anyone could, uh-“

“Get got?” supplies Michael.

Gavin nods. “Something like that. How’re you feeling?”

Michael smiles, genuine, easy. “Better than ever, Gavvers. This superhero bullshit is actually pretty sick.” 

The bravado is impressive, especially since in a past reset, on the brink of death, Michael had turned to Gavin with his eyes shining and said I know I’m gonna forget this, but just so you know, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I’m really fucking glad I don’t have to die here, even if- even if…

He’d trailed off there. Gavin couldn’t even look at Michael for a few resets after that, because he always died and it was always Gavin’s fault for not getting it right. Even now sometimes it’s hard to look him in the eye and not feel like a failure. The Michael that’s standing in front of him remembers only success, the team busting through missions like a well-oiled machine, hours upon hours of trial and error giving them the best possible outcome every time.

“Thanks,” says Gavin after a pause. “Let’s head over, yeah. We can compare notes with the group?”

“Don’t they always say the same thing?” asks Michael.

Gavin shakes his head. “Not after they know what’s happened. Sometimes even phrasing something differently opens up a whole new conversation.”

Michael nods. “Makes sense.”

They jump on a motorcycle outside of Gavin’s apartment. It feels weirdly exhilarating to not be making the trip alone. Michael is driving because he always drives when he can get away with it, and Gavin’s on the back of his own bike, arms locked tight around Michael’s waist.

Michael whoops as the air bites past them, swerving over-dramatically on turns, and his laughter cuts through the air like the world’s happiest machine gun. Gavin feels himself grinning too, holding on for dear life. “It’s not a race!” he yells.

By some miracle, Michael hears him over the wind and traffic. “It’s fun, though!” he yells right back.

It’s a short drive, but by the end of it Gavin’s heart is racing with excitement. “Christ,” he says, pulling off his helmet, but he’s beaming.

Michael smiles right back. “Today’s the day we win,” he says. “I can feel it.”

Gavin wants to trust him on this so, so badly, even as history opposes it, like the entire universe could conspire, just this one time, to let them save the day without suffering some awful casualty in the process. Gavin is very tired of losing. Gavin wants to win.

They walk into the office together, grinning like idiots. 

“Someone’s walking on sunshine,” says Jack as they enter. “Is this try number one?”

“Sixteen, actually,” answers Gavin. “But we might be onto something.”

Geoff straightens. “We?” he asks. “You two meet up before this?”

Michael gives a little wave. “Gavin brought me with him last reset. You’re looking at Michael from a different universe, boys. Everything went to hell there, but I’m feeling good about this one.”

The lights in the office flicker right on cue, power brownout starting as the energy in the city is being drawn out mystically by their eventual foes. Or something. Gavin doesn’t really understand all the science-y bits.

Jeremy looks up, alarmed, then back at Michael and Gavin. “You brought him with you? I didn’t know it worked like that.”

Gavin shrugs. “I didn’t either. Didn’t seem worth it to risk it, but he’s stubborn, so we tried it. Seems right as rain so far.” And Michael does, is the thing. He’s perky, still a little in awe of the journey back to the reset, its sheer impossibility. Gavin was the same way when he was younger and reset less often. Even right at the beginning, when it was new and exciting, he was cautious. This feels dangerous in a way nothing ever has before, and yet somehow feels right, too, like something slotting into place.

The lights flicker again. Ryan clears his throat. “Hate to bring us back to business here, but what’s the plan?”

“The plan is we kill those fuckers,” says Michael.

“Thanks, Michael,” says Jack, indulgent to the last. “What changes are we making, though?”

Gavin pulls out his notebook. It’s almost full, tragically enough, so much information crammed in that it feels like the side of his hand is constantly marked up with graphite no matter which reset he’s in. It’s the only thing he’s found so far that retains changes from one reset to the next. He thumbs quickly to this mission, then to his writeup before the last reset. “Their main weapons are their claws,” he says. “The teeth are dangerous, too, but their mouths and necks are vulnerable, so we need to aim there.”

Michael, who’s heard this before, leans back against one of the desks and surveys the room. Gavin wonders what he sees, if there’s anything Gavin’s missing. If there are micro expressions that could save them if Gavin weren’t so focused on the plan.

“What went wrong last time?” asks Geoff.

“The charges went off too soon,” answers Gavin. “We need to be more deliberate about our communication. Maybe set up some kind of call system that shortens things, makes it simpler.”

The others agree, and they go to practice for a bit before heading out and trying it for the first time. It’s a disaster, but they expected that. It’ll take a while to refine the learning process.

This time, Gavin tries to take Michael and Jeremy both back with him, but it’s only Michael that reappears in Gavin’s apartment when it all goes to hell. Jeremy turns out to be fine, though he doesn’t remember anything since he wasn’t actually reset, and Michael doesn’t mention it. He just looks at Gavin with dark eyes, uncharacteristically pensive, like he’s waiting for something Gavin doesn’t know how to give.

 

 

They try again,

Gavin vaults over the low wall, just barely missing the swing of the beast’s tail as it barrels toward him. He somersaults under a swipe of claw, then turns to call a warning as Jack gets thrown into a wall so hard the back of his skull is crushed, blood spattering against the white paint-

and again,

Gavin vaults over the low wall and gets the warning call off in time, Jack diving to the left and firing a rocket at the monster before he can get killed. Gavin only gets a brief moment to breathe a sigh of relief before Geoff’s voice comes through the comm: “Gavin? We need a reset. Ryan’s-“

“I’m on it,” says Gavin. It’s always easier when he doesn’t have to hear the end of that sentence-

and again,

Gavin vaults over the low wall, warns Jack, and tells Ryan to “be bloody careful, for Christ’s sake,” only to find Michael wheezing where he leans against a doorframe in the next room. 

“Sorry,” he says ruefully. His lips are speckled with blood, breath rattling in his chest. “Think they got my ribs. And maybe a lung.”

Gavin grabs his hand and reaches for the tug to reset them, shoving down the frustration as far as he can-

until they finally get it right.

 

 

Reset number twenty-nine doesn’t start out feeling special. Michael doesn’t saunter into the office telling people he thinks they’ve got it down and that this is their chance to win. Gavin doesn’t crack three jokes before getting down to business. They just get everyone on the same page and go, same as the last ten or fifteen resets, and something impossibly small just clicks.

Ryan gets the calls down at long last, Michael’s idea of using a pneumonic being the thing that works, and Geoff’s mini-gun is directed at the necks of the creatures, slicing through like butter where the armor-like skin on the rest of their bodies had just been deflecting the bullets every which way.

Gavin slices at the spine of one of the creatures with a dagger, and as it dies with a horrible shriek Gavin notices how still everything has gone.

“That was the last one,” says Jack. “Good work everyone.”

Gavin’s relief is heady, and he nearly crumples at the knees with the force of it. Nearly thirty resets this time. It’s the longest it’s ever taken them to get it right.

They walk back to the car together, the six of them bumping shoulders and comparing the amount of monster-guts they have stuck to their uniforms. “What number was that again?” asks Jeremy.

The others look to Gavin.

Gavin swallows. “Nine,” he says.

Michael catches his eye, almost curious, then looks away. Doesn’t correct him, thankfully. It’s better when the others don’t know how hard it was, Gavin’s found.

“Not bad,” allows Ryan. “You gonna set a new checkpoint, Gavin?”

“I should,” says Gavin. “When I get home, maybe. No need to rush it as long as no one does anything monumentally stupid in the next few hours.”

Geoff laughs. “With this group of assholes? No promises.”

Gavin rolls his eyes. He’s ready to get home and sleep for about a million hours before setting a new checkpoint. Right now he’s drained physically and mentally, and this is no place to land after a hard fight.

“Hey,” says Michael, quiet, when they’re in the car. It’s something Gavin’s noticed since they’ve started resetting together - Michael isn’t always running at 100% energy or 100% enthusiasm. He gets quiet when things are hard, when he’s tired, when he’s pushed past what adrenaline can carry him through.

Gavin raises his head up from where he’d been leaning it on the window. “Yeah?”

Michael’s fingering at a hole in the pant leg of his uniform, eyes down. “Does every mission take this many resets?”

“No,” says Gavin honestly. “This is the longest it’s taken to get it right.”

Michael nods, just once, to himself. “Do you ever reset when it’s not a mission?”

“Sometimes,” says Gavin, and leaves it at that.

 

 

The next mission only takes eleven resets, Michael by his side through every one of them. The bags under Michael’s eyes are semi-permanent now, though not as rough as Gavin’s, but having the company feels restorative.

It would be kinder to leave Michael alone, let him reset naïve like the others, but Gavin’s never pretended not to be selfish.

And anyway, Michael insists he’s fine, refuses to be left behind. He’s persuasive and passionate, and Gavin is so willing to be convinced. It only makes sense that they keep doing it this way, especially as reset numbers get lower and lower as they figure things out along the way.

 

 

It seems like the perfect solution until Michael starts losing words.

At first, it’s nothing - could be lack of sleep, or just general idiocy, but there are only so many ways he can pass off his confusion as a simple flub. Gavin doesn’t worry because he doesn’t realize he needs to.

It comes to a head three weeks after they finish the mission. Gavin gets up from his desk and asks Michael to lob him the keys and Michael just looks at him, expression blank, eyes panicked. “The what?”

“The keys,” repeats Gavin. “Shiny, jingly, make a car go vroom? Those things? They’re on Geoff’s desk, can you toss ‘em over?”

Michael’s face doesn’t crumple in on itself, but it looks like that’s only the case due to a monumental effort from Michael to keep his face smooth. “Yeah,” he says, voice cracking. When Gavin looks closer, he sees Michael’s hands trembling. “Yeah, one sec.”

“You alright?” asks Gavin. Cold dread sits in his gut like a stone.

“Um,” says Michael. His voice is weird, almost warbling. “I don’t know.”

Gavin sits back down. 

Lately Michael’s been complaining of headaches, been a little distracted, but Gavin just chalked it up to exhaustion. They’ve been working a lot, and even Gavin feels strung out and tired with all of these back to back missions. This, though- this is clearly something else. Something worse.

“What’s wrong?” asks Gavin, hoping Michael will open up. He wants to push harder but he’s never been any good with hard conversations.

Michael sighs. “I… don’t know? My brain’s just fried, I guess.”

“Yeah?” says Gavin.

Michael runs a hand through his hair, obviously agitated. “We don’t have time for this. We need to finish these reports, and then we have a debrief later, and then mission planning-“

Gavin cuts him off. “We’ve got all the time in the world,” he says, gentle. “Remember?”

The issue is that Michael really, really doesn’t.

 

 

It doesn’t get better. Gavin was hoping it was a fluke, somehow, but Michael keeps forgetting things more often than he even lets on, glaring angrily at his phone as he googles something or cutting himself off mid-sentence while asking a question.

They get through another mission, do it right on the first try. It feels like a goddamn miracle. Gavin hugs Michael, and Michael allows it, and it turns into a group pile of celebration and laughter. It’s almost enough to forget the way Michael gets lost in his own head, staring off into space and losing minutes at a time.

That evening, Gavin’s leaving the office late and hears Geoff talking to Jack quietly in the other room.

“I don’t like him living alone,” Geoff is saying, “but he hates people worrying about him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m pretty worried,” says Jack. “Who does he trust to help him?”

Gavin ducks out before he can hear more. It’s a good idea, having Michael stay with someone, but it’s also hard to acknowledge that they can’t afford to ignore this anymore. This is what Gavin was worried about when he brought Michael back the first time. There’s no precedent for this, no way they could’ve known this would happen.

When Gavin gets home, he texts Michael something stupid about having a game night sometime soon. It’s cowardly, maybe, but it’s all he can think of.

Michael doesn’t answer. Probably has other things on his mind.

Gavin falls asleep with his phone in his hand, just in case.

 

 

Michael moves in with Lindsay. Gavin’s afraid to reset them unless he has to in case it makes things worse, and it’s slowed down mission planning. Geoff’s impatient but understanding when Gavin explains his side of the story.

“It might not be because of the resets,” he says when Gavin’s done talking.

“Geoff,” says Gavin.

“I’m serious,” says Geoff. “You know this shit runs in his family.”

Gavin shuts his eyes for a moment. “It’s my fault,” he says. He can’t explain how he knows, but the knowledge feels as true as anything ever has, and if anyone knows how his resets work it has to be him. There’s no roadmap for this. There’s no way he could’ve predicted this except for the way he ignored his initial trepidation, let himself be bullied into something he knew, deep down, would go wrong from the start. “This was me, Geoff. I did this.”

“You don’t know that,” retorts Geoff.

“But I do,” insists Gavin.

Geoff sighs. “Do you think it’s your fault because of some spiritual revelation, or because that way it’s something you think you could fix?”

Gavin shuts his mouth. The protests threaten to bubble up immediately, but it’s so hard to think around the crushing guilt and fear. Just yesterday Michael got to the office and forgot Ryan’s name. Ryan, for his part, took it exceptionally well, turning it into a joke and reminding Michael all in one breath before returning to his work. Gavin saw the tightness of his eyes later, though. The tick in his jaw. The micro-expressions he’s learned to pick up in all of them after so long of working together.

It’s getting worse, is the point. There’s no time to stop and examine the problem rationally.

It’s times like these he misses Meg with an awful twist of desperation. She’d have helped him get his head back on straight, and he trusted her more than anyone. She’s at the same address, though she doesn’t know he knows that, and her phone number’s the same too. He’s wasted more than one reset calling her and trying to make things right, and almost managed to fix things once before Jeremy took a bite to the chest and he had to reset everything anyway. He stopped trying a couple months ago. Some things can’t be undone, and Meg deserves her peace.

This, though, with Michael. This isn’t hopeless. Not yet.

“I need to try to fix it,” he says finally, dragging himself back to the present moment. “Even if it’s not my fault. I have to try.”

Geoff holds his hands out, palms up. Acquiescence. Permission, maybe. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” says Gavin, and he goes.

 

 

Lindsay’s apartment is just a few streets down from Gavin’s. When she opens the door, she looks as tired as Gavin feels. “Hey, come in.”

“Thanks,” says Gavin, pulling off his shoes in the entryway. Lindsay’s hair is up in a messy ponytail, nail polish chipped, socks mismatched. “Is Michael in?”

Lindsay nods, steps out of the doorway. “He’s in the guest room. He was kind of out of it earlier, so just proceed with caution.”

“Got it,” says Gavin. He hopes he doesn’t run in on Michael napping, because he’s done so little sleeping lately that Gavin wouldn’t be able to bear waking him up. Lindsay keeps them all updated on Michael’s well-being practically daily, so Gavin knows the condition is worsening, whatever it is. They’ve all been struggling in the wake of it, but Lindsay’s arguably had it the hardest; she’s endlessly patient, often to a fault, and Gavin worries that he hasn’t been around to help out as much when Michael’s been prickly and difficult to talk to. Lindsay has always been good at handling Michael, but still.

Gavin cracks the door to the guest room open, trying to peek in.

There’s a rustle from inside. “I’m awake,” he says. “And I told you, this is your place anyway, you don’t have to- oh. Hi, Gavin.”

Gavin waves awkwardly from the doorway, where he’d finally just pushed it open. He doesn’t admit it out loud, but it’s a relief to be recognized. Michael hasn’t forgotten him yet, not even a little. Gavin and Lindsay are the only ones in the office who have been afforded that luxury after the last two weeks.

“Hey,” says Gavin. “How’re you feeling?”

It’s a testament to how bad Michael must feel that he just sighs, leaning back on his elbows. “My head fucking hurts,” he says. “Can’t remember what I do for a living, either, probably since I haven’t been to work in a million years.” It’s like he’s trying to get worked up but he’s too tired to get there, face pale in the waning sunlight coming through the window. 

“It’s only been four days,” says Gavin.

Michael blinks, surprised. His eyes aren’t quite glassy, but they’re distant in a way he can’t seem to shake, like his focus is somewhere else entirely. In a different world, the most scared part of Gavin’s brain whispers, like you left part of him behind every time you took him with you. “Really?”

Gavin sits at the edge of the bed without asking because none of this matters. “Yeah. Lindsay says you’ve been sick, too.”

“I guess,” says Michael. “I mean, she probably knows better than me, right?” He laughs, small and mirthless. “You guys are working and I’m just- I’m fucking useless like this.” 

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that.

Michael lets out a long, slow breath. He looks up at Gavin. “It was worth it, though, right?” 

“What?” asks Gavin, caught off guard.

“All of this,” says Michael, gesturing awkwardly with one of his hands while his elbows are still braced against the bed. “The memory shit, the fevers, the migraines. We did it for a reason.” His eyes are big, pleading, like he’s begging Gavin to fill in the blanks for him. “Gav, you gotta tell me it worked.”

“It worked,” says Gavin, because it did. “It worked, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. We didn’t know it would do this to you.”

Michael’s eyes are still wide, bright. “I knew it would work,” he says. He sounds far away. “I told you, I fucking told you.”

“I’m undoing it,” says Gavin. “As much of it as I can.” He hasn’t set a checkpoint in weeks, ever since Michael started deteriorating faster. He’s just hoping it’s far back enough, and that this is even fixable, and that he won’t somehow make things worse.

In the movies, people like him have a mentor of some sort. Gavin’s just got trial and error, and this…this was an error.

Michael’s eyes, miracle of miracles, have gone sharp, focused. “What?” 

“I’m going back,” says Gavin. “Resetting. Alone.”

“No you’re not,” says Michael.

Gavin has to smile at that, just a little. Even rocked by something like this, something in his head, Michael’s still stubborn as all hell. “I’d have to reset anyway,” he says. “Anything that takes one of us out of the game gets an automatic do-over. It’s the rule.”

“This doesn’t-“

“Doesn’t count?” guesses Gavin. “Can you even name all of our crew members?”

It’s cruel, but it’s necessary. Michael flounders for a few seconds before collapsing back onto the bed flat on his back, elbows no longer supporting him. “Fuck you,” he says, but it’s quiet, defeated.

Something in Gavin’s heart cracks. Has been cracking. “I don’t know how much you’ll remember when I go back alone,” he says.

“How far back is it?” asks Michael.

“Three weeks,” says Gavin.

Michael shuts his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” says Gavin immediately. “Seriously, don’t. If anything, it’s my fault.”

“I talked you into it,” continues Michael, voice still way too quiet for comfort. He sounds miserable. “I’ve been a parasite in this apartment and Lindsay somehow doesn’t even hate me yet, I’m not going to work, I can’t remember things and half the time I can’t even- make sentences, I don’t know. My brain’s all over the fucking place. You shouldn’t have to do all this over just because- because-“

“Michael,” interrupts Gavin gently. “It’s not your fault.”

Michael’s mouth twists. “I know,” he says. “But it still happened.”

“That’s why I’m going back,” says Gavin. “I’m resetting as soon as you’re ready.”

“Me?”

“Well,” says Gavin, “it’s only fair, right?”

“It’s not,” answers Michael. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone. It’s fucking exhausting to keep going back. I don’t remember everything, but I remember that. That I was dead on my feet half the time, and you just- you kept going. Didn’t even slow down.”

Gavin shakes his head before Michael’s even finished talking. “I’ve done it on my own for most of my life. It’s easier for me.”

Michael looks up at Gavin again. “What if you take me with you? Will it fix my brain?”

“It might,” says Gavin, “but we’d probably end up here again eventually. Or it could make it worse.”

“Fuck,” says Michael.

Yeah, thinks Gavin, that about sums it up.

“Well,” says Michael after a beat, “if you’re gonna do it, do it whenever. I’m not gonna ask you to.”

Gavin figures that’s as much permission as he’s going to get from Michael. “Alright,” he says. “Love you.”

Michael’s brow furrows so fast it practically gives Gavin whiplash. In any other circumstance, it would be hilarious. “What?” he asks. Gavin doesn’t say anything, just waits him out. “Uh, love you, too? You made it weird, dude.”

That’s as good a cue as any.

Gavin does this every time he resets. Picks someone he cares about and lets them know. It hasn’t been Michael in a long time, ever since Gavin started bringing Michael with him, but his reactions are always the funniest, if just for the way he always says it back with an expression of disbelief and confusion on his face, like he’s shocked but can’t not return the sentiment. 

It’s the coward’s way, Gavin knows. So sue him.

He reaches for the checkpoint and finds it easily, buried a little further back than it usually is but no less eager to tug him in that direction. The conversation he just had with Michael is hard to leave behind, but Gavin hurtles through space-time all the same, letting the reset drag him back, back, back.

 

 

He resets to the office. He’d forgotten he’d done that, probably had planned to set a checkpoint at home later on and ended up not doing it by accident. It wouldn’t be the first time. Everyone’s looking at him. It’s Geoff that spots the distance first, the disconnect between Gavin of a second ago and Gavin of now. “Who fucked it up this time?”

Gavin is very suddenly hyperaware of Michael sitting to Gavin’s left at his desk, fiddling with a pen exactly how Gavin left him. “Uh,” he says. “It was me. Sorry."

Geoff rolls his eyes. “Of course it was. Alright, what number are we on this time?”

“Michael, do you know?” asks Jack.

Michael looks up, blinks like he’s just now waking up. “What?”

“I didn’t take him with me,” interjects Gavin. “Got too complicated, so I’m flying solo.”

The room devolves into chaos as Jeremy starts singing Jason Derulo, ridin’ solo, everyone wailing along and butchering not only the song but the lyrics too, and Gavin meets Michael’s eyes properly.

Michael’s laughing, singing along. Something in Gavin’s chest eases.

When the room quiets again, it’s Michael that speaks up. “Wait, so you can take people with you?”

No one mentions the fact that Gavin’s taken Michael with him on loads of resets, and Gavin wonders if resetting alone reset all of that, too. If now it’s like he never brought Michael with him at all. Like the past however long didn’t happen the way Gavin remembers. Even Jack looks confused despite the fact that he spoke up just a few minutes ago.

“Not really,” says Gavin.

The office is quiet aside from the whirring of the fan blades overhead.

“So, the mission?” asks Ryan.

Gavin nods, looks down at the papers on his desk trying to remember which mission this is. “Um, just run through it as we planned. It would’ve worked, I just tripped in a hallway.”

Michael starts laughing, sharp and fast like a machine gun, and braces his hand against his chair. “You fucking would,” he wheezes between breaths. “Oh my god, you’re such an idiot, that’s incredible.”

“Ha ha,” says Gavin sarcastically, because he can’t express the sheer relief he’s feeling right now. There are lots of missions to do over, and every reset from now on will be alone, but he’s so grateful he can barely see straight, and that’s enough to offset the bad for quite a while.

 

 

Four months later, they’re ten resets into an ugly mission, six flying hell beasts circling a bank downtown and making things difficult for everyone involved, and it’s just Michael and Gavin in the office.

Michael keeps glancing over at Gavin, then back at his notes, then at Gavin again. “So what if we both-“ 

“No,” says Gavin.

Michael huffs a sigh. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation even just this week. “You ever gonna tell me what happened?” 

“I’d tell you,” says Gavin, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Touché,” says Michael, but he’s smiling, and that’s how Gavin knows he’s taking this secret with him to the grave, if something like a grave even exists for the likes of him. “Fucking touché.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at teamokdynamite!


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